Making Up for Lost Time
by Scribbler
Summary: SatAM fic. Princess Sally isn't the only leader who tries to do too much alone and ends up getting hurt because of it. Anyone else remember Griff, the goat from Lower Mobius who stole the Power Stone in the episode Warp Sonic?


**Disclaimer: **From tip to toe not mine.

**A/N:** Request fic for Insane-Purin, who asked for the SatAM character Griff and the prompt 'injured'. For those who've never heard of Griff, he appeared in one episode of the early-90s cartoon Sonic the Hedgehog (which now has the fandom shorthand name of SatAM, since it was broadcast on a Saturday mornings and fans use that fact to distinguish between it and the much sillier, off-the-wall The Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog). Griff's episode was called _Warp Sonic_ and he was a real sweetheart who did some dishonest things but for noble reasons. For those interested in seeing him, you can find _Warp Sonic_ at youtube. com/watch?v **(equals sign)** uY-LDFo098k or all the SatAM episodes at youtube. com/user/HLrad

* * *

_**Making Up for Lost Time**_

© Scribbler, September 2008.

* * *

_If your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more and become more, you are a leader. _-- John Quincy Adams (6th American President).

* * *

Griff was pretty sure he was a good guy. Except for that one mistake with the Power Stone, he was honest, he was loyal, he protected his friends like a mother protecting her cubs, he fought against Robotnik's evil, and he did everything he could to make sure nobody else had to work as hard as he did.

_So as far as karma goes, someone must still be punishing me for stealing from Knothole_, he decided. _I am going to have to work __**so**__ hard to make up for that. _

He figured stumbling along, holding a wound in his side closed and avoiding SWATbots had to count towards that. After all, he'd gotten the wound destroying Robotnik's newest regiment of upgraded SWATbots, and even karma had to admit those things were scum. If debts were paid in blood and sweat, then surely Griff was out of the red by now.

Or … maybe he was in a lot of red, just not the metaphorical kind. Man, he was bleeding more than he'd thought. If he'd been caught by a laser it would've cauterised the wound with the intensive heat, but no, he'd been hit by shrapnel, and shrapnel took no account of a guy needing to get home from the surface world and requiring all available blood and guts to stay _inside_ his body to do it.

Lower Mobius had always been his haven, the place that had sheltered him and his fellow survivors after Robotnik's coup. He felt safe there amidst the bedrock, and he wanted nothing more than to keep it safe. It was his home, and recently, the place he ran to when he'd been off playing hero.

He wasn't technically _supposed_ to play hero; at least not in the way Sonic or Sally and their Freedom Fighters did. Griff was supposed to watch out for the Lower Mobians and keep them safe. He was supposed to make sure their little world stayed hidden and secure by standing his ground and fighting off anything bad that came too close. Nowhere in that job description did it say he had to go up top. In fact, he _wasn't_ supposed to go up top. Their food reserves meant there was no need, and their sensor-jammers kept the SWATbots and their ilk away. Those who lived in Lower Mobius were sitting pretty as long as they didn't draw attention to their location.

Which was why Griff had no intention of endangering anyone else by including them in his schemes to go topside. He wasn't nearly as naïve as he'd once been. They could stay hidden, but there was no way they could just sit out Robotnik, because no way was Robotnik going anywhere unless someone did something to push him that way. They had no ostrich residents, but if they had then even they would have said something about burying their heads in the sand. If they didn't take care of the true problem they couldn't hope to survive even if they had a million Power Stones.

Griff knew they couldn't outwit Robotnik's RATbots and other nasty creations forever, but nobody ever signed up for fighting a war when they survived long enough to build Lower Mobius. They weren't warriors. He was leader, so it was up to him to make sure his people were saved.

Hence, sneaking into Robotropolis after dark with a few pounds of explosive, a flint and a stolen set of floor plans to the two biggest warehouses in the city.

He smiled at the memory. _You could probably see that fire from space. Went up like a rocket. All those SWATbots and weapons. Ah … man, that stings. Now if I wore a vest, I could tear it into strips and … oourgh … _He stumbled, his vision greying so he couldn't see properly and crashed into a pile of garbage. _Where the heck is that sewer entrance? I need to get __**home**__. _Granted, sewers weren't the best idea when you were wounded, but hygiene was the least of Griff's problems right now. Unless he got himself underground soon, Robotnik's surviving goons would find him and he wouldn't live long enough to get gangrene.

The smell of blood was never good, but it was especially terrible when it was your own. Griff wrinkled his snout, even though his senses had all been affected by the intensity of the blast. His nose hair was singed, and he was pretty sure he'd lost his eyebrows. Still, no matter. They'd grow back, provided he made it home and to a doctor before he collapsed. He'd think about everything else later – including how to explain his injuries without tempting the others to copy him and go aboveground to play hero. This whole thing was an example of why nobody else should have to do this kind of thing.

His hands were shaking. Not a good sign. He tried to pull himself along using a metal handrail that used to border the skate park, his hooves skidding a little in oil and other spilled waste. Robotnik was using it for dumping refuse now, but Griff still remembered coming here as a kid. Back then it'd been him, Dirk, and the Babirusa twins, Petra and Pip, sometimes with Dirk's little sister or brother tagging along if he was on babysitting duty.

The bittersweet memory made Griff's vision blur for quite a different reason. Petra and Pip were long gone now, both captured and roboticised during the coup. Caught away from their families when Robotnik took over, Dirk had stuck by Griff then and ever since, hiding his grief for his parents and siblings from everyone except his one remaining friend.

Most saw warthogs as smelly, unhygienic creatures, but Dirk had always been fastidiously clean for as long as Griff had known him. In fact, when they first went underground and hollowed out the caves under Robotropolis, it'd been Griff who'd scattered his things all over their living quarters, and Dirk who'd complained and picked up after him. Griff remembered the tutting that followed him around, the constant demands of when he'd learn how to leave a room the way he found it and whether he was going to wash his hands before dinner. Dirk was more of a mother hen than Griff's own mother had ever been.

_There it is. Oh, thank Mobius for that._

The open mouth of the sewer pipe, half-buried beneath a pile of debris, leaked green slime in a steady drip-drip-drip. The smell was awful, but it was still the most welcoming thing Griff had ever seen. He ducked inside, into the pleasant cool and darkness, and splashed along until he came to a fork. There he paused, his thoughts fuzzy. Was it left here, or right? One way led him to the secret entrance into Lower Mobius and his hover-vehicle; the other straight into Robotnik's stronghold, and almost certain death if he tried _that _in his current state.

_Which way … is it?_

He was still trying to decide as he leaned against the curved wall and slid down, his eyelids fluttering and his head incredibly light. His legs just wouldn't hold him up anymore, and the pain in his side was intense. Bright throbs of agony pulsed deep into his gut, making him want to throw up and sleep and jump into a lake of cold water all at the same time.

Not good. Definitely not good. He had to get up. He had to keep going. Had to … to … no, please, don't let him pass out here …

… _Stupid …_

He thought he heard the clanking of metal feet before he blacked out, and desperately hoped that if it was a SWATbot or a RATbot it would fry him and not take him to the roboticisor. Dirk had already watched his family moving around the factories as workers. It was one of the reasons Griff wanted to keep him belowground. Dirk shouldn't have to know his best friend had ended up that way as well.

However, when Griff finally opened his eyes it wasn't to the inside of a glass tube, or even to the sour smell of the pipe. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling of his own sleeping quarters and inhaled air redolent of dust, antiseptic and the last vestiges of yesterday's cooking. He blinked, but the ceiling stayed where it was. He knew it was his because there was a crack in it he'd seen every night since he moved in six years ago, after he and Dirk parted ways and got their own individual quarters instead of having to share.

"Mrrf."

Clanking footsteps. Red diode eyes peered down at him.

The effect on Griff was electric. "Robian!" he yelled, jumping out of bed. "We've been invaded – argh!" He clutched his side, which had flared with pain. His hand touched bandages. "Wha-?"

"Consider that a salient lesson in looking before you leap," the Robian said, not unkindly. "Back to bed with you, sonny."

"What?" Griff stared. "What did you just say?" No orders to destroy? No radioing back to Robotnik with news of their location?

"Griff?" Dirk peeped out from behind the Robian, further confusing Griff. Maybe this was all a dream. "You're okay!"

"Uh, yeah. I guess so. Although I think I must've hit my head or something -"

"You nearly died! You would have, too, if Uncle Chuck hadn't brought you down here. He carried you all the way from the surface and fixed you up better than any doctor."

"He ... did?" A memory played about the edges of Griff's mind. He remembered meeting Sonic several times after their initial encounter. In one of those meetings sonic had mentioned an uncle who'd been roboticised but somehow, by some miracle, regained conscious thought and autonomy of his robot body.

Griff stared again at the Robian. Now he thought about it, he did see a startling resemblance between the two. This was a hedgehog, and except for a moustache and the obvious metallic sheen to his body, he was the spitting image of Sonic.

"I heard about the explosion and knew Sally hadn't planned a raid tonight," the Robian said. He stuck out his hand. "Glad to finally meet you, young Griff. My nephew's told me some interesting things about you."

"Aheh." Griff gingerly took the proffered hand. He could imagine some of the stuff _Sonic _would report back about him. Plus, he abruptly remembered that _this _was the guy responsible for Sonic's Power Rings, and the source of them. Shame, which had been creeping up on him as his memory returned, abruptly pounced and put him into a headlock. "Yeah, about that Power Stone incident -"

He got no further, for at that moment Dirk darted forward and yanked sharply on both of Griff's horns. Griff yelped. Not many creatures knew that the base of each horn hurt like crazy if you yanked it up instead of pushing down, like in a headbutt.

"What the heck was that for?"

"You idiot. I knew you'd been sneaking out – we all did – but to do something as reckless as blow up two warehouses on your own, and get so badly hurt you would've bled to death if you hadn't already gone into shock … you big fat _idiot_." Dirk's face was glowing with anger and hurt and – Griff squinted – disappointment? "Do you know how we would've felt if we'd lost you just because you thought you didn't need to rest of us to back you up?"

Griff geared himself up for the conversation he'd hoped he would never have to have. "It wasn't like that; I just didn't think you needed to be involved -"

"Why not? We live down here too. We're not helpless, Griff. Or have you forgotten that building Lower Mobius in the first place was a team effort? You _don't_ have to do everything alone, you know."

"I'm leader. I'm supposed to keep Lower Mobius safe."

"And I'm your best friend. I'm supposed to keep _you_ safe. I can't do that if you go running off in the middle of the night just because you'd rather get yourself killed than risk any of us, or even _ask_ us whether we'd like to be involved in taking down Robotnik. There are thirty people in Lower Mobius, Griff. Did you ask even _one _of them their opinion on this?"

Griff stopped. Was he that transparent? "I'm leader," he said again, his goatish stubbornness seeing him through. Sometimes there was something to be said for genetics. "That means I take the risks and stop others getting so swept up revenge that they end up getting themselves killed. Revenge isn't healthy. It's no way to live your life."

"Yeah," Dirk said, equally stubborn. Evidently he'd picked up more than just Griff's belongings over the years. "I'd noticed." He looked pointedly at Griff's bandages. "You've pretty much proved that one already, or are you going to try and tell me you _weren't_ trying to get back at Robotnik for taking your family?"

Griff opened his mouth to argue … and then closed it again. He dropped his head. "I," he said like it explained everything, "am the leader."

"So lead us. Hard to lead anyone when they're not even around."

"If I might interrupt, boys." The Robian stepped between them, hands outstretched as if trying to keep them apart like schoolboys trying to punch each other. Griff would usually have thought this absurd, but Dirk still looked furious. Griff had never seen him look that mad before, not even after the coup. Mostly Dirk looked sad, earnest, or faintly irritated that he was cleaning up after his friend yet _again_.

For all his complaining, though, Dirk had never stopped picking up after Griff. He'd never just left him to his own devices like he was always threatening to. Through good times and bad, Dirk had always been there, a steadfast fixture of Lower Mobius – and Griff's – life.

Something piped up in the back of Griff's mind. It was the same little voice that had been yelling at him the moment he contemplated taking the Power Stone from Knothole. He tried to shake it away, as he had done every time he snuck out to his hovercar and went to the surface when - he'd assumed – everyone thought he was asleep in bed.

Except that apparently nobody had. Hmm.

"Griff, was it?" The Robian gestured with one hand. "It strikes me that you've been confused as to what actually comprises the duties of a leader. Don't worry; Princess Sally took years to get it right, and she still has off days where she thinks she has to do everything by herself. But she has her friends around her to make her see the error of her ways. You, on the other hand, have been avoiding your friends and not letting them rally round you – a dangerous game, as you found out tonight." He shook his head. "None of you kids were ever supposed to have this level of responsibility, and especially not so young. I'm so very sorry for that."

"Why should you be sorry, sir?" Griff asked, genuinely nonplussed.

The Robian coughed, which was strange as Robians didn't need to clear their airways. After all, robots didn't breathe. "Uh, just Uncle Chuck is fine. How old are you, Griff? Seventeen? Eighteen?"

Griff narrowed his eyes and resisted the urge to ask where this was going. "I'm twenty."

"You are?" Incredulity etched Uncle Chuck's tone. "Well I never. _And _you have your own car. No wonder Sonic was so worried about competing with you."

"Excuse me?"

"Sonny, you need to get something straight. A leader is not a parent. It's not your job to use your own body as a shield. A leader is someone who knows when to put himself forward, and also when to delegate. A leader uses the strengths of those he leads. He doesn't ignore them, or try to make all their decisions for them without ever consulting them over what _they _want. That's not a leader. That's a dictator."

Dirk nodded appreciatively.

Griff, on the other hand, gritted his flat molars so hard he was sure they'd crack. "A leader keeps his people safe."

"True. He also keeps them happy, yes?"

"I guess. But he can keep them happy _by_ keeping them safe."

"The people in Lower Mobius are safe. Are they happy?"

"No," Dirk said quickly, "we're not."

Griff folded his arms, careful not to put too much pressure on his side with his elbow. "And you speak for everyone, do you?" He wasn't usually one for sarcasm, but it oozed into his tone of its own accord.

Instead of answering, however, Dirk went to the door and swung it open. He inclined his head, and when Griff hesitated, he added, "Look out there."

Griff approached with caution. When he peered outside, his jaw very nearly hit the floor.

Every single resident of Lower Mobius looked back at him. They'd all gathered in the square beneath where his quarters were cut into the rock. From the oldest gazelle to the youngest boar, all eyes lit up at the sight of him, and a chorus of cheers and applause rose like morning mist lifting off a swamp.

"He's all right."

"He's alive!"

"Griff! Griff!"

"We were so worried about you, lad."

"Mr. Griff!"

"Griff! Over here, Griff!"

"What were you _doing_? And are you really okay?"

At the touch on his shoulder Griff jumped. He was so busy gaping that he hadn't heard Dirk step up beside him.

"You're not keeping anyone safe if you're risking your life without telling them. You're exposing them to the worst threat of all; the same one they faced when Robotnik revolted without any warning and stole their lives and their world from them. Don't you see how cruel that would be? If something were to happen to you, how do you think they'd feel? Betrayed would only be part of it. You might be leader, Griff, but you're not _just_ a leader. You're not just here to serve one purpose like some piece of machinery."

"Ahem."

"Sorry, Uncle Chuck."

"No offence taken. But you do make a good point, Dirk. Taking back our world was never going to be a job for individuals. We have to pull together if we're to have any chance."

"I can't risk losing anyone," Griff said quietly. "Not again. The coup already took so many. Thirty isn't even a handful compared to all those we're missing. We've stayed safe down here for this long. I can't … I can't face ruining that just because I decided to go active and start throwing sticks at the monster instead of staying with passive resistance."

"Who said including us in our own fate meant everyone piling up to the surface with bombs and lasers?" Dirk replied. "There's more than one way to squash a slug, right?"

Griff stared at him. He was aghast to admit it, but that had never actually occurred to him. When he made the decision to follow in the Knothole Freedom Fighters' footsteps he automatically started copying their tactics. The idea that they could fight back in other ways hadn't even crossed his mind, though it had obviously crossed Dirk's straight away.

Maybe he _had_ made a mistake by trying to go solo, Griff realised belatedly.

Griff had never seen a Robian smile. He hadn't even realised they were capable of it. There was something grisly and sad about the way Uncle Chuck's mouth hinge ratcheted backwards into his cheek plate, dragging the extending coil of his lips into a curve. The lack of warmth in his red diode eyes just made it worse, because without knowing why, Griff was certain that if Uncle Chuck been flesh and blood they would have sparkled with emotion. Instead they were just bright dots in his metal skull that gave no hint of what thoughts were going on behind them.

_I don't want that for any of my people_, Griff thought severely. _Robotnik needs to be stopped. We can't sit back and let him rule us with fear anymore. But everyone in Lower Mobius trusts me to keep them safe. I can't risk their lives …_

"You boys may be inexperienced in being Freedom Fighters, but I can already tell that you're survivors, and frankly, against an evil like Robotnik that's half the battle won already. Now, as for how you can help take him down without taking the kinds of risks you did tonight, young Griff, I have a few ideas I'd like to put to you."

"Go on," Griff said with a sigh.

"How do you feel about reconnaissance and siphoning information from Robotropolis into Knothole?"

* * *

_**Fin.**_

* * *


End file.
